moore motivation

The snail at the edge of the
road
inches forward, a trim gray
finger
of a fellow in pinstripe suit.
He's burdened by his house
that has to follow
where he goes. Every inch
he pulls together
all he is,
all he owns,
all he was given.

The road is wide
but he is called
by something
that knows him
on the other side.

"The Crossing"
Ruth Moore

[Zen drawing by Deiryu]

nmp on the demands of life

considerthis.

gotseeds?

thatsall.

thanks.

H(arvey) D(aniel) Thoreau
the new millenium philosopher

jhvt retort

So ... it's been pretty dark at the Hole lately. What's with that? We decided to check it out.

You've got to understand that the Hole is so far out on the edge of cyberspace that it is in a constant state of darkness, literally. It's also very cold. We found Lucas standing with his back to a fire, "warming his ass," as he put it. It was hard to tell in the available light, but we think he smiled when he said this. He muttered a few other things, but we didn't quite make out what he was saying--as usual. We left.

Keep that ass warm, Lucas.

Right.

--Jumpers Hole Veterans for Truth

what fizzy said

I don't usually walk beyond 10th street. It's shit north of 10th street. Ask Fizzy. You don't generally walk beyond 10th street if you want to live. That's what he told me. A buddy of his was taken down execution style up that way, so I figure he knows what he's talking about. He had a job for about a week at this pizza place a couple of blocks away from the area, and says he was ordered to stay out of that zone. Man, he already knew that. Fizzy kept saying, aint nobody shooting up my car! so he only made deliveries going south. He knew the score, too, Fizzy did. He drove clear into the zone after his pal was laid out. He said it was a personal statment. Yeah, that's what he called it. A personal statement. He said he sweated bullets all the way. That Fizzy. You really got to admire the guy, driving in there like that and making a statement and all.

15th street holes

Down Fifteenth Street, past The Last Supper (which is on the right side of the street), there is excavation work underway just this side of Richway Ave. The site is surrounded by a wooden fence that stands about eight feet high. There are several holes cut in this side of the fence. I had to have a look, so crossed the street.

However, once I reached the fence I realized the holes were not open holes, but sealed portals of plexiglass. From the other side of the fence I could hear the sounds of large machinery laboring at work. I stepped up to the nearest pane, the surface of which was scratched and dirty. I wiped it with my sleeve and pressed my face up close. It was still early morning, and I was looking east. The direct sun on the plexiglass rendered the plastic surface nearly opaque. I could see nothing. I stepped back and looked down along the fence. There were two other windows, both of which were presently in a shaded area. I moved down to the first one, but this portal was also srcrathed and dirty. I moved to the next. There was grafitti written on the surface in wide strokes, completely obscuring the view: whaddya look'n at A-hole!, fuck U! and eAt SHIT! This is the kind of thing the Great Pontificator eats for breakfast.

I turned to cross the street and waited for traffic. The sky was cloudless. It was going to be a beautiful day.

I turned to cross back and waited for a break in the traffic. I looked up into the blue sky. It was going to be a beautiful day.

gravity

He was a bottom scraper. He had been scraping by his entire life, it seemed to him. Once you get into a hole, he told himself, it's hard to dig yourself out. He tried new jobs, new relationships, new towns, and even once enlisted in the military. Every week he put a dollar on the lotto. Nothing really changed, however. He never went anywhere in a new job. New relationships always turned sour, just as before. And no matter how many new towns he moved to in order to make a fresh start, he always ended up just as he always had--nothing more or less than who is was and who he had always been: a scraper-by.

He was past forty years of age before he recognized his life was circular, a spiral of repetitive actions, of being pulled downward and kept on the bottom of things by an unnatural gravity, the suction of lost opportunities, the drag of bad luck, and (he eventually realized) the very absence of lightness itself. When these thoughts stole into his head he was inclined to conclude that there was no lightness anywhere within his reach, no lightness that beamed true. But then he would stop himself. He would pick up his cat and put it on his shoulder, as was their custom, and would go outside in his bare feet and lie on the ground. There, on his back, looking into the dark sky, he would work on the small fragment of lightness that remained in one corner of his mind.

(another) hole scene

"You've got to think Big to work here," he said. He pursed his lips and spread his arms out--Big.

Oh, yeah! Sure!" I replied,"I think Big all the time. Just the other day I was thinking so Big that I had to walk outdoors to finish the thought!" He really cracked up at that one. I was almost a shoo in for the job.

Once he had finished laughing his head off, he added, "I'll tell you what, why don't you suit up and we'll try you out for a week, okay?" Yes! I said to myself, Yes! yes! yes!! before it occurred to me that we had not discussed a suit.

"Suit up? What does that mean, exactly?" I ventured. He got a funny look on his face, then, yeah, funny-strange, and he said, "Oh, no big deal. It's just that experience has taught us that you really have to immerse yourself into your role here. Suiting up, as we call it, really facilitates that process and ultimately enhances the flow of the creative juices, thus bolstering your job effectiveness. Remember!" he punctuated the thought, "Big!"

Less than an hour later I was deep into my new role as a script writer, walking back and forth on Buckle Road, wearing an erasable signboard and updating the time hourly before the jock's show was to start and he would be ripping off zingers one after another. Wow! What a job! I was definitely breaking into the whole scene.